


And I Said To The Star, Consume Me

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings are denied and then realized, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mainly set during the Summer break and Belgian GP, Part Three of my last two fics, Rivals to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: Mykonos, with its views of water so blue and so beautiful it could be hypnotizing, is a distraction from the restlessness that has taken root in his mind since Budapest. He doesn’t think about the second half of the season, he doesn’t think about the impossibly high yet seemingly in reach expectations and promises he has made to himself and to others, nor of how the water’s particular shade of blue resembles that of his would be lover’s eyes.





	And I Said To The Star, Consume Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably the hardest fic I've ever written given what happened in Spa. I contemplated not finishing it, but after talking to two of my good friends Jazz and Ayesha as well as Malter I finally wrote the last part of the fic. The title comes from a section of The Waves by Virginia Woolf.

The minute that the podium celebrations are over and the fans as well as their noise begins to slowly fade while they begin their trek off the race track, is when the Summer break truly arrives. Charles -even in his post-race adrenaline buzz- hears the uttering of what the various people on the inside of this world that he finds himself in plan to do. _My friends and I are planning on going to Ibiza, want to come? No, I’m heading home and sleeping for a week straight._ He himself isn’t sure exactly on what he’s planning to do, and unfortunately he had not thought that far ahead given his focus on the remaining races until now. But that is all over now, for the time being at least. As the Hungarian sun beams down on him from his place in front of the Ferrari garage, Monaco isn’t too far from his thoughts. Post race exhaustion slowly seeping in. He lets out a heavy sigh at having not placed as well as he wanted to. The pace just wasn’t there, unfortunately. The thought dissipates as his ears pick up a familiar voice, a familiar way of walking along with a voice he doesn’t entirely recognize. _Winning is the only thing that matters and will keep you relevant in this sport. If you’re not first you’re last and…._ At some point, he catches sight of Max and his father, deep in conversation or perhaps, mid scolding. Charles doesn’t expect that Max is finding it in himself to listen too much, even if he knows all too well the way that damaging ideas find their way into your mind even when you don’t intend them to. Upon walking in front of the garage, Max and Charles lock eyes for a brief moment. 

It’s the same self-mourning, pensive look he remembers from long ago. The one both of them know all too well. Charles gives what he can in passing, a soft smile that reflects back in his eyes. 

He only hopes Max can feel what he means to say not in words. This is the last thought on his mind as the comfort of his room’s bed greets him once he arrives back at the hotel, not even having bothered to turn on the light when he entered, late afternoon daylight still peeking in between the narrow slit where the curtains over the window don’t touch. Sleep over takes him easily. 

If he’s entirely honest, Charles feels like he has slept for ages when he wakes the next day. After breakfast in the quiet of this temporary space that isn’t quite his own, he checks his phone. There’s a million texts from various different people, but two that stand out to him the most. One is from Max, _I’m flying home and wanted to say goodbye_ and the other is from one of his friends, _we just arrived and we’re going clubbing tonight. Coming with?_ The latter is dated from an hour ago and the first from yesterday around the time Charles arrived back at his hotel. Somehow, he must have missed it in his exhausted state. In the back of his mind, something tells him to answer it but another keeps him from doing so. Sure. is the answer he gives back to his friend. 

Morning descends into afternoon, which descends into evening then into night. 

Charles goes out with his friends, and he’s not entirely sure that he’s up for it once they arrive. It’s crowded, packed with people and loud. At least for a while they’re holed up in the circular booth they settled into, but then the drinks are flowing and his friends fan out to find willing dance partners when a particular song comes on. Whether it’s due to the alcohol or what he doesn’t know, but none of them seem to notice that their one time willing participant doesn’t follow them. Suddenly, this isn’t the place Charles cares to be at. It’s too much and not enough all at once. His brain seems to communicate the desire to leave once he finds himself getting to his feet. At some point, his friends will realize that he has made his exit whilst they were blissfully unaware. Thankfully, the hotel isn’t far. 

In this all too familiar state of self-preservation, his mind latches on to what is at the very front of all his other thoughts, seemingly more so these days than past days. Hair too dark to be fair, eyes that stare into every corner of the soul and seem to read your every thought. The way of understanding between the two of them. Maybe it comes down to their shared experiences in life, ever so different yet with similar ways of coping- the faraway distracted looks, heavy exhales coming from long held breath and calls gone unanswered leading to deep set worry. Isolation. The understanding makes it easier, but Charles thinks they sometimes understand each other too well. This he knows deep down, is no way to live. 

_Still in Budapest_, he types out as he begins to answer back that text from Max before setting the phone on the night stand after having arrived in the comfort of the hotel room, the only source of light in the room currently being the harsh white light of the bathroom, mixed with the comforting sound of shower water running growing warmer by the second. _I went out with friends tonight but didn’t like it. Heading back home tomorrow anyway._

The warm water for the moment, soothes his worries and carries them down the drain all at once. 

Afterwards sleep once again greets Charles like an old, cherished friend. When he arrives back home, the water front views even more so. 

He doesn’t stay in Monte Carlo quite as long as he wants to. Mykonos, with its views of water so blue and so beautiful it could be hypnotizing, is a distraction from the restlessness that has taken root in his mind since Budapest. He doesn’t think about the second half of the season, he doesn’t think about the impossibly high yet seemingly in reach expectations and promises he has made to himself and to others, nor of how the water’s particular shade of blue resembles that of his would be lover’s eyes. This is the most time Charles has had to himself in a while and it’s a much relished in temporary change to the existence he finds himself in. Gazing out over the water from his hotel room balcony, he mulls over something that at first eats at him until he cannot ignore it anymore. _You are not your failures, nor should you hold it against yourself._ A daunting task to accept, but much needed. Part of him hopes never to forget it. 

By the time he gets to Los Angeles and Las Vegas, his mind feels a lot clearer and his friends a little more wiser. Every day they do something new, from driving around town in a convertible to bike riding. Laughs are shared. 

He thinks about Max very little, that is, until he logs onto Twitter to post a video of said bike ride, and sees a headline glaring him in the face that he finds rather unexpected in the moment. _Alex Albon to replace Pierre Gasly at Red Bull for the rest of the season._ Charles clicks on the article, unable to keep curiosity at bay. _It follows a tough season for Gasly alongside Max Verstappen._ Quickly, he closes the article when he feels a tightness in his chest beginning to form. Despite his good performances, it hits a little too close to home. As irrational as it might seem, he finds himself thinking that easily could be me. 

\- - - - 

It’s one of the worst weekends in recent memory, and Charles yet again finds himself carrying that heavy feeling of loss and grief. Nothing about the track the morning of the race feels the same. The sky dotted with iron grey clouds, the noisiness of the pre-race chatter nothing more than barely audible. Sometimes they find their way to Charles’s ears in the form of condolences, to which he responds with a soft thank you. Yet, everything feels empty and hollow. He continues his walk to the Ferrari garage in a silence that he finds he welcomes. 

Somewhere along the way Max appears at his side. There’s an urgency of sorts to the look in his eyes, mixed with relief at the fact that his eyes have Charles in view once again. The gentle touch of Max’s hand finds the small of the other’s back after having glanced around before guiding them into the temporary privacy of the stairwell. No one pays them any mind if at all. Their eyes meet, and Charles lets out a heavy breath.

“I had to see you.” Max says softly, almost a whisper. “We didn’t talk a lot over the break, I missed you, and after yesterday-“ He pauses to think for a moment on what to say next. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Why?” Charles asks abruptly, confused about how Max could spend a whole Summer break missing him while he himself thousands of miles away tried to forget the goings on between he and the other driver as if perhaps there was a prospect that none of it had ever meant anything. 

“Why?” Max chuckles under his breath, looking off for a second to make sure there’s no one coming down the otherwise empty stairwell. “We’ve spent almost every minute together for years, never mind the things we’ve done.”

Charles heaves out another heavy breath, his voice almost a whisper looking at Max and not breaking his gaze. “Is there even a we to begin with?” 

Far off are the numerous typical sounds of a garage. Sounds of machinery, voices discussing. 

They’ve both thought about this constantly. The hows and whys of whatever it is that they do. Running through Max’s mind are all of the times Charles listened to him talking about the things he would never talk about to anyone else save for Daniel. Max doesn’t know that Charles is thinking about the time after the disappointment of Bahrain, when Max held him close in the darkness of his hotel room as Charles spilt the contents of his inner most thoughts into words- how he let down the two people most important in his life who were not here to see any of this. How Max said that he hadn’t let them down at all, that they would be so proud of him. Max had not been thinking about how he could have been on that podium Charles’s place in that moment. All of this added with the current emotions of the weekend make Charles’s eyes feel watery. 

His eyes drift towards the sight of the doorway as someone walks by. The two drivers go unnoticed. 

“Charles?” Max steps closer. At this exact moment, the last thing that Charles wants is to cry in front of him, yet he looks back up at Max anyway. Charles feels their fingers tangle before the Dutchman kisses his forehead. They stay like that for what seems like forever, and it feels as if too much time as gone by. The last thing that is wanted is for people to come looking for them. After Max parts, he lightly squeezes Charles’s fingers. 

The words don’t have to leave Max’s lips for Charles to know what he means.

\- - - - 

Charles doesn’t know how long he’s slept after the race, but as he stirs and opens his eyes he can see the fading rays of the Belgian sun through the narrow slit where the curtains over the window don’t touch. His mind drifts off to the moment he crossed the finish line. The sound of his anthem playing and the post race photo with everyone from the crew. Racing for the ones who are no longer here, but without any doubt would be proud of him. In the end with his head pillowed on Max’s chest, the sound of the other’s beating heart lulls him back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The five songs I listened to while writing this particular fic were as follows:
> 
> -Is My Love Enough? || White Lies  
-L'Inverno || Vivaldi  
-Get Out || Frightened Rabbit  
-Talk Tonight || Oasis  
-Lucky Man || The Verve


End file.
